Sunday with Italian Food

(Sorry, I got busy on Monday, and this went out late)

I woke and was enjoying coffee by 7:30. These are Mexican-sourced beans roasted and ground in Hillsboro, a few miles away. The flavor is lighter as I asked for less than the soul-blackening dark I usually consume in the morning. And while less bitter, it still reminds me that there is much to be done in this world to find Justice and Compassion, and to establish Hope for all.

Portland unhappily is appearing in the press and the President’s latest threats. My Facebook feed is filled with reports from Hell, one being a video showing people swing dancing to 80s music at Teacher’s Fountain. The protests at the ICE center involve a usual taco stand with free food and water in front of the ICE building, as well as individuals dressed in costumes protesting, sometimes alone, as it appears we are a 9-to-5 protest this time around. So far, the naked protesters and pole dancers have not appeared, but it has not gotten that serious yet. It is strange that the only thing I know that is nuttier than Trump’s RFK guy is, well, Portland. Trump seems attracted to crazy.

Returning to the story, I arrive at church after finishing the blog, showering, dressing, and chatting with Deborah through the morning. We learn, as the church is going, that a Mormon church in Michigan was attacked, and there are many dead. Honestly, it made me nervous to be there, “Here at the Heart of Beaverton,” as we say every Sunday in the service, when I read about these horrors. I am ushering and, as always, have my situational awareness in full attention. I often miss the sermon words, as there are things to watch and people to help.

The hymns are familiar, and the church and I sing them with joy. The new organist is excellent at both the organ and piano, with the only, so Methodist, complaint that he plays too loudly (“Sing louder,” is the usual reaction, but he has brought it down a bit). We all manage to enjoy the music.

Pastor Ken’s sermon is long and includes graphics that we project on the walls, and he turns into a full professor or writer for us. Each point is backed by references (some of which are displayed to us) as he covers how many churches pick and choose Bible verses and cannot distinguish between historical and cultural items and the message relevant to us. Paul, in the text, points out what Peter gets wrong, and Ken notes that Jesus also called Peter out. We cannot expect it all to be right for us, as even the apostles disagreed and Jesus gave them some talking-to’s. Ken’s details serve as a defense and an explanation of how, as general Christians, they arrived at this point, with our pick-and-choosing and assigning high value to things that are clearly just historical norms. Finally, he points out that the famous 99 essays that are the foundation of the fundamentalist view of the Bible never have the word ‘love’ covered. I realize that Ken’s sermon is an essay response to those. I found it fascinating when I could listen.

Next, still with the image of a truck slamming into the walls and an insane person jumping armed with an AR-something running in my mind, the service concludes with more excellent singing. We did not die today. It was a good day. The news from Michigan is sad and heartbreaking.

My last Sunday School Class went well as I covered the mechanics of our church and our denomination. I also read from the Council of Trent, I have a translation used in Catholic classes, and a slightly revised quote from St. Parrothead (Jimmy Buffett), “We are the people they warned you about,” here. With the pamphlet I handed out, clearly “condemned” in the 1451 council, often repeating, “We are the people they wanted you about,” as I covered this.

I had a few folks wanting to include some stories about Methodists for the group. I was happy to keep it light, and while most folks would not use the Council of Trent as a straight man, it was, I think, fun for everyone. I supplied Costco sandwiches, which, I suspect, were the best part for some folks. “Amen,” and I was done.

I also checked the stewardship box, as promised, and outlined the types of giving and options available to individuals and families.

With that done, I headed out and was soon home. I planned to cook too much food for dinner, use it as leftovers, and freeze some for later (I find it reheats well if you run it twice and let it settle for a bit after the first heating). Deborah called, and the details are for others to share, but she was upset, and we spent time talking here while I chopped and cooked. Deborah is fine for those worried.

Dinner was fantastic and spicy. A messy pasta dish that uses one pan. I spoon in Italian-style bulk sausage. This cooks little meatball-like clumps of the meat, and that really makes it great. Tomatoes, crushed, go in with the usual spices and partially ground fennel seeds. I just put the pasta into this and added cheese, including ricotta cheese, in spoonfuls on top. Then, more, you guessed, cheese (it is an American version). I don’t have the fresh basil leaves that really make this rock.

I bake it in the same pan with the pasta stirred in uncooked (I will cook it next time, as I think it comes out too starchy and flavored). I bake it for twenty minutes (or less, likely less). The bumbling mass, heavy, comes out of a hot oven and is just a vision of American Italian-style cooking. If I had the basil, it would be the colors of Italy’s flag.

I have two bowls, but not large ones, and I enjoy pasta with cheese and meat. There is so much left! I start to go for a walk, wanting to get moving again, and see that my neighbors are enjoying a BBQ, so I bring over the pasta dish. The adults are already stuffed with burgers and hot dogs, but the teenagers, always bottomless pits for food, jump in, and soon, much of the pasta dish is inside them. I walk 3/4 of my usual walk. I have skipped a few days, and my back starts to complain. Best not to push it. I retrieve my pan with about one large helping left and text Corwin to get some. He will give it a try on Monday afternoon.

Food is universal, and although I disagree with them on political issues, my neighbors and I get along and enjoy each other’s company. They often treat me as an anomaly of how a liberal can be nice, successful, and friendly. I smile and wave my hands figuratively or actually when they call out liberal policies or politicians they cannot stand. I am here for the food, as a chef says, and a chat about life, food, lawns, fireworks (don’t ask about the year they had to put out my roof when I wasn’t there for July 4th), or traffic. Those things that really matter.

Back at the house, I did the dishes, put things away, talked to Deborah until she went to sleep, and looked at cruises. I see my meds are running out, and with my medical coverage ending at the end of the year, I was holding out for one last 90 days of pills, and now I have ordered the refills (all done by mail). I might consider adding one near the end of the year, as they are always ready to refill too soon.

On November 1st, I have to select new Obamacare health coverage. I see that the Republicans have been messing with it and reducing coverage. I can never understand why we want healthcare to be more expensive and to make people sicker. I have been mansplained on this issue before. Please don’t go there.

I read more about Chinatown and wince, as my next story is quite racist in its wording, but the story elements are excellent and might be reused in my upcoming adventures, I plan to write for Dungeons and Dragons. I have ordered the Italian version, as the crime novel versions from the 1920s-30s are also from Italy. Those will be here next week.

Soon, I was sleepy and then put the book down and slept.

Thanks for reading.